


All Well

by i_am_a_hog



Series: Terror Fix It [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_a_hog/pseuds/i_am_a_hog
Summary: Francis was still cold, kneeling uncomfortably on the hard floor, but he stubbornly ignored his discomfort. After several seconds of worrying stillness from James, another sob tore through him. He sniffled into his elbow and turned away from Francis, hand slipping off his shoulder.“James…”“Go away.”“I don’t want to.”
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: Terror Fix It [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717627
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84
Collections: All Well: The Terror April 2020 Fest





	All Well

**Author's Note:**

> Three Weeks After First Watching The Show, here I am with something At Last!
> 
> Please excuse the Highly unimaginative title. I'm not good with those at all.

Francis woke up. He was freezing and for a moment he thought he was still in the arctic, surrounded by ice and stone, the coldest, most lifeless materials.

It took him several moments to recall the events of the last weeks; the search party that had found them, the slow recovery of more men than he could have hoped for. The fact that he was on a ship, mere days from England. Francis was unsure if he wanted to return there; he had never fit in there in the first place, so why should it work now? He swallowed down the panic, that rose in his throat and pulled the wool blanket tighter around his body and his knees to his chest. Preserving warmth seemed to have become second nature to him.

Controlled and calm, Francis tried to focus on his breathing, to banish the horrors of the last years from his mind, so he could have another attempt at sleep. Just as he was dozing off again, he heard it.

A sob, gruesome and gut-wrenching, cut through the silence. Well, as much as a ship was ever silent at least. Another choked up noise had Francis sitting up, heart racing, his breath shallow and fast. The noises were coming from James’ cabin, next to his own. Before Francis could think too much about his, he was on his feet, making his way towards another heart-breaking cry.

Quietly, he shut the door behind himself. The small space was dark, but from the berth came the rustling of blankets, panicked breaths and agonized panting. Francis dropped to his knees and found James’ shoulders, trying to steady him.

“James.”

Another sob. For a second, Francis regretted coming here, because hearing James utter such noises hurt. They settled in Francis’ chest and hollowed him out, making room for an ache he could never satisfy.

“Shh, James,” he tried again, voice breaking. “It’s over. We’re on our way out –“

“Francis?”

James’ voice was rough, sleep worn and tense.

“I’m here.”

For a moment, it was silent, made comfortable by the noises of the ship.

“Damn.” Just one word, choked through emotions. Francis’ eyes were better used to the dark, making out James’ form against the messy tangle of the blankets.

James dragged a forearm over his face, before burying his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

Francis’ hand was still resting on James’ shoulder. He was unsure what to do, clueless as to how he could help James, so he started rubbing circles into James’ shirt-covered skin with his thumb. Slow and reassuring.

Francis was still cold, kneeling uncomfortably on the hard floor, but he stubbornly ignored his discomfort. After several seconds of worrying stillness from James, another sob tore through him. He sniffled into his elbow and turned away from Francis, hand slipping off his shoulder.

“James…”

“Go away.”

“I don’t want to.” Francis surprised himself by speaking the words. He shifted his weight awkwardly.

James did not answer, so Francis forced himself to continue. He had done harder things – he could speak to a friend in need.

“I saw you waste away under my hands and I couldn’t do anything. I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

“Well, you can’t do anything about it, can you?”

James’ words were pointed, sharp like daggers, every single one. They were designed to drive Francis away and they did their very best to fulfill their purpose. Francis exhaled. Inhaled.

“I’d like to try.”

James remained still, his back turned towards Francis; he shifted again, a creak in the hard wood underneath his knees startled James.

“I don’t die,” he quietly volunteered. Francis looked at him as close as he could, darkness wrapping them into a tight and personal space. James did not continue for several moments, but he shifted and when Francis reached out his hand again, he didn’t pull away.

“In my dreams. I don’t die, but everyone else does. Sometimes it – sometimes they starve until they are only skeletons. Sometimes they just rot. I can smell it. Sometimes it’s the creature.”

Francis knew the feeling; his own dreams had not been kind to him. He gently squeezed James’ shoulder, trying to shift his position unnoticed, but a grunt escaped him as his knee crunched uncomfortably beneath him. James lay frozen for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“You can come up.”

Francis knew it was an invitation, but he was not sure how wise it would be to accept it. With a declination already on his tongue, his knees gave another twinge of protest, so he nodded – more to himself than anything else.

He sat down on the edge of the berth. It was better, but he was suddenly colder.

James tugged at his hand and Francis slowly followed, lay down awkwardly next to James, who did the best to get Francis under one of his blankets.

They ended up face to face, or rather in a position where James’ breath ghosted against Francis’ neck. They barely touched – a feat in a berth this small – but Francis had looped an arm around James, running gentle fingertips over the skin at the nape of his neck.

Neither of them spoke up for a long while. Francis was almost sure James had fallen asleep again, when a helpless noise escaped him. Instinctively, Francis pulled him closer until James buried his face in his shoulder.

“The worst ones are when it’s you,” James whispered, almost inaudibly, tears lacing his voice, pressing through the fabric at Francis’ collarbone, hot and insistent.

“Shh,” he made, but James ignored him.

“I’ve seen you mauled, starved, falling apart from scurvy and exhaustion and it all feels so real-”

A sob cut him off, so sincere and heartbroken, that Francis had to swallow down tears of his own.

“Shh,” he mumbled against the top of James’ head. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. We’re on our way back to England and nothing will hurt you,” Francis paused a second and softly added, “or me.”

James seemed to relax minutely at that, sinking into Francis’ embrace, so he just continued to mumble reassuring nonsense until James stopped crying and the damp spot in his shirt cooled down against his skin.

Francis selfishly pressed his lips to the top of James’ head – carefully, so as not to irritate him.

“Why are you doing this?” A beat. “Being here for me.”

_Because I can’t stand to hear you suffer._

_For myself. Or for you. Is there a difference still?_

_Because I got us this far and I will see to it that you’re safe._

_For a chance of … something._

_Because you trust me to._

“Force of habit.”

James huffed at that and Francis smiled weakly, relieved that James asked no further questions.

As he listened to steadying breaths and felt strained muscles relaxing against him, something small came to his mind, the looped handwriting of ridiculously trivialized struggle.

_All well._

**Author's Note:**

> Henlo! Please, kudo and comment! <3
> 
> (might add another chapter to this, but I am Not sure yet)


End file.
